Fingerprints on the Glass

The grandchildren are gone,
it's quiet again,
the holiday's are past.
All that remains to remind us of them,
are their fingerprints on the glass.
We've cleaned the whole house,
and picked up the mess,
everything sparkles at last.
But the windows aren't cleaned,
like all of the rest,
we're leaving the prints on the glass.
Those sweet little hands
left traces of love,
hands that grow up so fast.
We want to cherish each priceless smudge,
of their fingerprints on the glass.
Each tiny mark
holds a memory flood,
like glue to our hearts they are cast.
So we're not inclined to wash off the love,
in those fingerprints on the glass.